When I was around 11 (which seems like a lifetime ago in some ways and just yesterday in others) I experienced my very first trip abroad. Back then there were not the modern options of travel from the UK to France such as the channel tunnel and unless you were rich flying was out of the question for a family and so we went by car.

I have always loved traveling by car – even back then – so for me it was quite an adventure. Having driven to Dover (well, my father did anyway lol) we went on a car ferry to Calais and then the adventure started in earnest.

We were on the opposite side of the road of course (the UK drives on the left) so that was very different. Everything seemed so different, which is quite amazing when you think about it as France is only a few miles from the UK, but different it was.

We were headed for Paris and it was quite a drive as highways were still in their infancy but we eventually made it. Now for those of you who have never driven in Paris let me tell you a little about it. First off you need nerves of steel. Paris is not for the faint hearted. High speed and nobody gives an inch. Now bearing this in mind we got stopped by the police. For speeding. Ludicrous as we were undoubtedly the slowest car on the road. Everything, and I mean everything was overtaking us. But of course we had GB plates on. Fair game for all French cops apparently. Just as an aside anyone who intends driving through Quebec in canada will run the same risk. Anyway, my parents spoke very little French, the cop spoke very little English and we were let off with a warning after a bit of sarcasm about we were going so fast we most have been heading for the hospital.

Walking around Paris was an equally exciting experience. None of this give way to pedestrians crap. You took your life in your hands trying to cross a road. I don’t know if that’s changed nowadays but that was certainly the case back then.

Paris is a wonderful place to visit. Full of life and so much to see and do. We went up the Eiffel Tower – the elevator with all its noises and jerking was like something out of a horror movie. But we made it. The artists’ square was great and should be on anyone’s list to visit. The young talent was quite something. The Louvre of course. The Arc de Triomphe. Notre Dame. All wonderful places to visit.

But what was my strongest memory of Paris? That, strangely enough, was of the “pissoires.” Hmmm… I hear you think. Is that anything to do with… well, pissing? It certainly is. Or was. I believe they’re all gone now. But back then Paris had open air toilets on the street known as les pissoires. These were stalls set in the pavement (sidewalk for my American friends) and as you stood at the urinal you could see all the passers by and they could see you. If you were one of those people who had trouble peeing when somebody was watching you were in deep trouble! And everybody accepted this as perfectly normal.

Like all holidays we eventually had to go home and so we returned to Calais via a couple of towns whose name escapes me all these years later. We were visiting relatives. But that’s a different story really as this one is about Paris. Anyway we got home safe and sound.

The first of my many adventures abroad.